


All The Unknown Faces

by WhoStarLocked



Series: All The Unknown Faces [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Panic Attacks, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Friendship, My First AO3 Post, Panic Attacks, Possibly Pre-Slash, Shrek is Love Shrek is Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 21:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14317866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoStarLocked/pseuds/WhoStarLocked
Summary: Bucky is recovering. He’s pretty much as good as he’s ever going to get again. Until a certain name dredges up a certain face he’d thought would always be just a memory. Good thing the guy’s actually there to help him through it, right?Good thing that, as it turns out, the guy’s got experience with mind-fuckery.





	All The Unknown Faces

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic is basically the beginning of a Clint and Bucky friendship, or it can be taken as a pre-slash. I may make this into a series of oneshots of Clint Bucky friendships that follow on from this.

The last few months have passed in a blur of aching, numb, nothingness for Bucky, interspersed with moments of an all-encompassing anger, and the occasional day where Steve has actually managed to get him to do more than sit on a couch without him needing to retreat.

Finding out that he’d been brainwashed was easy. Accepting that he’d almost killed Steve, but that his best friend was still there for him until the end of the line (although Bucky was certain he’d never figure out why the moron would stick around) was only a little bit harder. Agreeing to try and get better so that he could stay out of SHIELD custody was fine, except it gave Steve an all-out excuse to manhandle and manipulate Bucky into doing things that he figured would help him recover. (One of those things was living in Stark Tower with the other avengers, and Bucky swears as soon as he’s recovered to Steve’s satisfaction, the first thing he’s going to do is give his shit of a best friend hell for putting him through what living with the avengers entails.)

It’s the faces that are hard. Bucky sees them – mostly when he’s sleeping – but sometimes when he’s awake, if it’s a particularly bad day. There’s not as many now, after three months. Nowhere near as many of them send him into a tailspin panic attack that would leave him shaky and fragile for the rest of the day. But they’re still there. There are still new ones the crop up. Targets, Hydra agents, his superior officers, some that might’ve been soldiers from the 107th. They’re hard to place.

They fuck with his timeline.

But the last couple of weeks have been better. He actually willingly ate dinner with the rest of the inhabitants of the tower three times. He actually willingly came out of his room every day. He’s recovering. It’s baby steps and early days, he knows, but the smile that lights up Steve’s face every time Bucky confirms he’s having one of his better days is worth all the hours of torment; is worth every single nightmare that left him cold and trembling; is worth every hardship that this recovery has thrown at him.

And he’s getting better.

He’s not quite there, but he’s better than he was.

There are still daily challenges, and if it were up to him, he’d grab the nearest glue-stick and make him and Steve conjoined at the hip. Having Steve around grounds Bucky, even if sometimes the sight of his best friend confuses his already jumbled timeline.

Which is why what Steve is saying right now is so terrifying. He doesn’t want Steve to leave for a mission. He gets it’s an emergency, but does Steve have to go? Do they need Captain America? What if Steve gets hurt? What if he doesn’t come back?

The thoughts chase each other around his brain, leaving him feeling violently sick, and very scared. Not that he’s going to admit that. So instead, he keeps breathing evenly. Instead, he tries not to react visibly to Steve’s words.

“Is that okay?” His friend is asking.

_No,_ Bucky silently answers. _Not if I’m not there to make sure you get home._

Steve looks uncertain now. His face is starting fall into a very familiar I’m-not-angry-or-disappointed-I’m-just-sad face that Bucky just knows has been on his face far too often in the past half year.

“I can stay…” He offers, but even as he does, he’s looking forlornly towards the door of the communal space they’re in. _Yes,_ Half of him thinks desperately, _stay_ , even as the other half of him, the more disciplined part of him forces a smile. Says,

“No, you go. Avenge… whatever it is you avenge these days.” He manages. It sounds gruff, but it doesn’t matter. Steve’s face is splitting into a grin. And even though there’s already a slight panicked feeling building in Bucky’s gut, seeing his friend smile like that makes him feel proud, like he made the right choice, and also a little bit more like he might actually be able to manage being on his own for a while.

“I’ll try not to be too long.” Steve says, and Bucky can see the honesty in his face, as he always could. He snorts derisively, and Steve grins, looking down slightly.

“Steve Rogers, try to make a fight quick? I don’t believe you.” Bucky tells him, and Steve chuckles.

“If things get bad here, ask Jarvis to patch you into our comms.” Bucky nods, and feels the panic abate slightly. Steve yanks him into a hug and Bucky has an overwhelming urge to just hold Steve and not let go, ever. The urge passes, he releases Steve when his friend pulls back and turns to leave.

_He’ll come back_ , Bucky tells his panicking brain sternly. Steve halts in the doorway. Turns.

“By the way, Clint’s probably gonna get back from his mission before we get back. I don’t know whether he knows you moved in or not. Anyway, if he gets too much for you, just ask him to back off. He’ll respect your boundaries.” Steve tells him gently.

“Clint?” Bucky asks, bewildered. For all that he’s getting better, he doesn’t really keep track of the tower’s other occupants.

“Hawkeye.” Steve tells him, and leaves.

Bucky lasts about two minutes.

_“Codename Hawkeye! Fuck you asked for my name! That’s my name!” The man – ~~boy, he’s only a boy~~ – is screaming. The soldier continues his work, because he has not been told to stop. He lands another solid blow on the man’s ~~boy’s~~ man’s torso, one that has the captive coughing and gasping for breath._

_“We want your real name.” A toneless voice tells him. That’s his superior officer. He’s behind the soldier. Hidden in the shadows that the room has been designed to cast. He emphasises the statement with a sudden jab to the man’s ~~boy’s~~ man’s mid-back. He’s caught him in the kidney, the solider knows. He does not need the man’s ~~boy’s~~ man’s following grunt-gasp to know this. He knows because he’s been trained to put people in pain._

_“My real name doesn’t matter.” The captive coughs. He coughs again. “Fuck, it’s not important.” For a moment, the only sound in the darkened cell is the captive’s heavy breathing as he catches his breath. The solider knows what’s coming. He’s done this many times before. As the man ~~BOY~~ man finally stops gulping air quite so desperately, his superior officer sighs, and the soldier follows up on the implied disapproval in that sigh with a metal fist to the captive’s torso, just underneath his ribcage. The captive is suddenly gasping for air again. The sound is echoing, like someone else is struggling for breath, too, but that’s not right… it didn’t happen like… that wasn’t what happened- _

Bucky suddenly becomes aware of the way he’s gasping for breath. He’s curled up on his side. He’s pretty much where Steve left him, but he’s not standing anymore. He knows this, he can feel the cool wooden floorboard against his cheek. He’s not sure how long he’s been lying there, stuck in yet another memory he never knew he’d been missing. Not that he would've missed that particular one.

He shifts, groans, and pulls himself to his feet with what feels like monumental effort.

“Jarvis.” Bucky tries to ask the question on his mind, but his voice is raspy. He coughs, and heads into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. He twists the lid off and downs most of the bottle in one go. “How long since Steve left?” He asks the empty kitchen.

“Captain Rogers departed approximately thirty minutes ago.” The AI replies. He sounds… concerned. Well, isn’t that just great? Even the damn disembodied robot voice is worried about him. He screws his eyes shut, tries to order his thoughts and get a solid grasp on what he’s feeling.

Tired. He’s feeling a whole lot of tired.

“Sir? Would you like me to contact Captain Rogers?” Jarvis asks him, and the voice startles him back to the present, bringing with him the realisation that he’d been slipping into his mind again.

“No,” he sighs. “Hey, can you order me some food?”

*

After deciding to get pizza, and choosing what pizza, Bucky feels better. A little bit. He’s reminded himself that he can make his own decisions now. He doesn’t need Hydra, or Steve, for that matter, there to do everything for him. His life is his. He gets to say what he does.

Bucky decides to reinforce that feeling of success by choosing a film to watch while he eats. He needs the distraction to stop worrying about Steve, and frankly, he’s sick of Tony’s whinging about his lack of up-to-date knowledge of iconic movies. (Personally, he thinks anything that Tony says is iconic will result in him wanting brain bleach in the near future, but he’s a bigger man than admitting that.) So he has Jarvis throw up a list of the films that Tony has insisted he must catch up on. Next to each title on the TV screen, there’s a little blurb about the film. Bucky can tell Tony wrote them, because no way would half of those films sound so exciting as their titles suggest otherwise.

He selects a movie and settles back, the pizza boxes that had been delivered open on his lap.

The film soothes him. It takes away the itchiness in his head. Makes him feel less like he needs to strangle something, or check over his shoulder every few seconds for a Hydra goon. He focuses on following the plot as he eats.

Bucky finds that he’s actually enjoying most of the film. He also thinks he’s never related to a character more than he relates to Shrek (having a nice, isolated swamp sounds good to him too). And Jesus, does he appreciate the sense of humour. Most of the culture references are lost on him, but he finds himself smiling into his pizza.

There’s a slight noise from the hallway, and Bucky’s up and in a defensive stance before he’s fully registered that he’s heard anything. As he tenses and frowns at the doorway – surely Jarvis would tell him if it was a threat? – there’s a louder thump, like a bag being dumped unceremoniously. Then, a voice floats down the hall.

“You assholes better have saved some of that pizza for me!”

“The avengers are currently out of the tower, Agent Barton.” Jarvis cuts in smoothly. Bucky gets the feeling he heard that so that he’d calm the fuck down. Which makes Jarvis clever, and thoughtful. Fuck, now he’s feeling grateful towards the disembodied robot voice.

Just as Bucky fully registers that ‘Agent Barton’ must be Clint - _the man ~~BOY HE’S JUST A BOY STOP!~~_ – he walks into the room. Bucky flinches away from the memory that suddenly drifts to the forefront of his mind. The man’s face tightens marginally. He casts a glance down Bucky, a neutral party analysing a potential threat, before he speaks.

“Something I should know, J?” Clint, Hawkeye, Agent Barton – _the boy_ – asks the air. His voice is hostile. It also has the strange quality of a voice that’s recognisable despite the fact that it had changed quite drastically since he’d last heard it.

“Agent Barton, this is Sergeant James Barnes. He surrendered himself to Captain Rogers and has been recovering here in Stark Tower in your absence.” The man before him instantly relaxes, and a small grin breaks out on his features.

All Bucky can think is that he doesn’t recognise him. His face is not making any memories jump out at him. He watches in mute terror as Clint Barton wonders closer towards him. He raises an arm, and Bucky flinches, anticipating a blow. It never falls. He glances back up to see that Barton has extended an arm to him, clearly having been going for a handshake the whole time.

When Bucky finally reciprocates the gesture, the man smiles.

“Good to meet you,” Clint tells him, and he seems to ooze honesty just like Steve.

“I don’t recognise you!” Bucky blurts. And then immediately pulls away, because really, mouth? _Way to prove to the guy that you’re recovering_ , he thinks.

Clint frowns at him, looking bemused. “Okay?”

“I tortured you. You were just a boy.” Even as he speaks, Clint’s face becomes a blank slate. “I’m sorry.” Bucky chokes out. He’s trembling. He’s ten seconds away from losing it, again, because he’s a f _ucking disaster, who can’t keep in control of his goddamn emotions for more than a minute, without getting overwhelmed like the pathetic little-_

“Hey, whoa, focus on my voice, okay? Just take a deep breath.” The voice cuts into his thoughts and abruptly destroys the downwards spiral he’d been caught in seconds ago.

Bucky slowly makes his eyes move, makes them find the owner of that voice, and he sobs when he does, because actually, yes, he recognizes that face, has seen those eyes watching him before, _desperate, silently begging him for mercy, mercy that he didn’t deliver…_

“Barnes!” This time the voice is stern. That’s the voice of someone giving an order he expects to be obeyed. It’s just as effective. “Focus. On. Me.” Bucky is vaguely aware that he’s nodding, even as his whole body shakes – and when did he sit down? – but he has to let them know, has to tell them he’s _ready to comply, ready to comply, does he have orders? What are his orders? What is his mission?_

“Your mission is to pull yourself through this.” He’s told. “I am ordering you to take a deep breath. Match your breathing to mine.” He decides to do as he’s told.

And the tightness in his chest abates, easing off as he manages to gulp air into his lungs. He manages to force back the little sobs that are escaping. He breathes, distantly becoming aware that someone has a very firm grip around his flesh wrist, and slowly, he pushes back the panic.

It’s Barton, of course, who’s gripping his arm. When Bucky’s finally calm, he meets the other man’s gaze again. Doesn’t know what to say.

“Are you good?” He asks, and his voice, if not his expression, betrays his concern. Bucky nods once, and Barton releases his wrist, moves back. Gives Bucky some space. Bucky is both disappointed and relieved.

“I wasn’t sure you’d remember that. I didn’t want to bring it up.” Barton’s saying, and Bucky winces.

“Sorry?” He asks, watching Clint wonder over to the kitchen counter. Clint snorts.

“Steve didn’t let me get away with that, there’s no way in hell he’d be pleased to hear you apologising for a panic attack.” His back is to Bucky.

Bucky considers him silently. He still feels off, too close to slipping into panic again, but for now, he’s as okay as he’s going to get- so he may as well dive in with what’s scratching at his brain.

“I’ve met you since then, haven’t I?” He asks quietly.

“Yes.” Barton replies calmly, evenly, back still turned to Bucky.

Bucky winces. “Did I hurt you then, too?”

“No.”

Barton turns around quietly. “Look, I don’t exactly know how Steve’s been getting you through this. Do you talk about memories?”

“It can be helpful, sometimes.” Bucky answers, tearing his gaze away from Barton’s face.

“Do you want to talk about this? ‘Cause if you do, let’s get it out of the way and done with, yeah?”

Bucky sighs. “I only just remembered it.” He mumbles. He lets his eyes slip closed. He can hear Barton moving. “When Stevie got called out, earlier, he told me you’d probably be back before them. Wanted to let me know- anyway, I only remembered torturing you when he told me who you were.”

“I didn’t give you my name.” Barton interrupts quietly. He’s a lot closer than Bucky realised, and he only just smothers his flinch.

“No, I remembered- He called you Clint. I didn’t know who that was. He told me Hawkeye.”

“Ah,” Clint says softly. Bucky can hear the echoes of his screams in the following silence. He risks a glance across the room to find Barton studying him, head tipped slightly to one side.

“I couldn’t think of your face, before. When I remembered.” Bucky admits quietly. “I know it now.”

Barton remains silent, watching him. “You were in Mongolia.” Bucky tells him. Not that Barton needs telling. “You took out the head of a human trafficking ring.”

“You were in Siberia. You’d been sent to make sure Nat didn’t get out alive.”

Bucky jolts his head up. “So… were you?” He trails off into a question. “You’re talking about Natalia, right?”

Clint shrugs. “She goes by Natasha these days. Think you’ve probably already met her?”

And, _oh_. Bucky had _not_ connected those dots. The realization must show on his face, because when he looks up again, Barton is grinning softly at him. After a moment, he seems to sober, wiping away his expression.

“I _was_ sent to kill her.” Clint tells him. “We… had history, enough that I couldn’t quite bring myself to pull the trigger when she was in my sight. We had to go on the run for months, until I convinced SHIELD to give her a chance.” He looks up and smiles softly at Bucky.

For a confusing moment, Bucky can’t pull his eyes away. The silence stretches on. It’s full, it’s deep, but it’s not uncomfortable, like Bucky was expecting.

“I was watching Shrek.” He blurts. Clint’s smile shifts into a smirk.

“Well, I promise not to tell you what happens, _if_ you’ll share the pizza.” He answers as he moves away. Bucky picks himself up off the floor. He knows a crap deal when he hears one.

“Get your own pizza, asshole, this is mine!” He answers jokingly, lightly swatting Barton’s hand away from his pepperoni.

“Oh, is that how it’s gonna be?” Barton asks, the grin on his face obvious in his tone.

*

Steve looks mildly confused, but mostly happy, when he and the other avengers slowly file into the room to find Bucky seated on one side of the couch, Barton curled up next to him, his head resting on Bucky’s arm. There are pizza boxes strewn around them – Clint had ordered his own, and it turns out he can eat a hell of a lot of pizza – and the credits of the second Shrek film are about to start rolling on the TV. Clint had fallen asleep about five minutes into the sequel - and whilst Bucky had instantly missed the quips about onions and layers and Shrek is love, Shrek is life commentary from next to him - there had been something calming about having Barton’s weight against him. There had been a comfort in watching him rest. It reminded him of-

Of Steve. Of looking after the tiny, perpetually ill Steve Rogers that he remembers. As the thought falls into place, he smiles, gently strokes a hand through Clint’s hair. He’s been doing that intermittently throughout the film.

He turns back to Steve. Steve is watching him, and there’s a frenzied glee in his eyes. Bucky rolls his eyes.

“What is this?” Tony asks, voice loud as he enters the room, last, “Why are we all standing-”

“If you wake him up, Stark, I’ll eviscerate you with a rusted spoon.” Bucky mutters. Tony shuts up. He looks about three seconds away from explosion though, his eyes flicking between the two of them on the couch and Steve so fast it’s a wonder he doesn’t get some kind of strain.

“Nice to see your mother-hen instincts kicked back in.” Steve grins.

Bucky flips him the bird.


End file.
